The Mad Queen (The Fae War Chronicles Book 5)

by Jocelyn Fox

  The darkness obscured some of the finer details of the scene, but the fairy lights hovering over the six figures cast a silvery wash over them, bright as a full moon. She picked out Vivian by the silhouette of her riotous curls. One figure stood a few steps apart from the rest: Tess, judging by the sheath on her back. Ross couldn’t see her lips moving but she imagined that Liam’s sister was giving her squad last minute instructions and reiterating the plan. Her throat tightened as she remembered similar briefs before stepping off into blazing desert heat.

  Tess finished and looked at each in turn. Then she turned toward the portal that Ross couldn’t quite see; she caught a sheen in the air out of the corner of her eye if she let her vision go unfocused, but she couldn’t see what they saw. Tess disappeared neatly, stepping through that invisible doorway. Ross sucked in a breath.

  Niall followed Tess, and then Ramel behind him. Finally, it was Vivian’s turn. Ross saw Vivian pull her shoulders back, her hand resting on the hilt of the sword she wore at her hip. And then her friend took two steps forward and was gone.

  Ross stared into the darkness of the back yard long after Luca and his wolf had followed Tyr through the portal. The fairy lights flickered and died like candles at the end of their wick. May padded into the room, sniffed at the blankets folded neatly in the corner that had once comprised Tyr’s nest, and whined low in her throat. The dog trotted over to Vivian’s bed, surveyed its tidily made, empty expanse, and whined again, leaning against Ross’s leg in a bid for reassurance.

  “She’s gone,” Ross told Mayhem. She looked back at the darkness outside the window, now empty and unremarkable, devoid of any magical lights or mystical beings. “But she’ll be back soon.”

  Chapter 52

  It was midday, but storm clouds darkened the sky over the White City. Calliea glanced up at the clouds balefully again.

  “Afraid of a little rain?” Liam asked, grinning.

  “Have you ever flown in a storm?” she retorted. “There are limits to what even Kyrim can handle.”

  “Vell will keep the worst at bay,” he said with a confidence that Calliea wished she felt. She tugged at one of the stiff straps of her new breastplate, brushing away the longing for her battle-worn breastplate, once a bright robin’s-egg blue and now decorated with the proud scars of the war against Malravenar.

  “You look good,” Liam told her with a brotherly nod.

  Calliea ran her fingers over the sleek new surface of her armor, tracing the wolf’s head emblazoned in silver on her chest. She wore a black tunic and breeches and boots as she had seen Gray wear when the High Queen bade her Three to don their matched armor. And now, Calliea wore a breastplate bearing the sigil of the Vyldretning in place of her cousin.

  They stood at the top of the stairs to the cathedral, surveying the gathering of the Vyldgard. Vell had ordered a guard set on the healing ward to defend their wounded if need be, and the healers had all buckled their swords about their waists at a single command from Maeve. At the base of the stairs, Trillian stood before the handful of Valkyrie, those who weren’t already on patrol and hadn’t been wounded gravely in the attack against the Vyldgard. Niamh and Selaph would be flying patrol over the cathedral, keeping watch with the guard over the healing ward. Calliea couldn’t forbid Niamh flying any more than she could forbid the fierce warrior buckling on her sword and shouldering her bow.

  The air of the White City thickened with tension. They could all feel it, like the breathless moment before a lightning strike. The Valkyrie patrols had reported a blizzard over Unseelie territory, the clouds low and gray, the snow fierce and blinding. Calliea thought, and Liam agreed, that Mab conjured the storm to cover movements of her troops. Vell had listened to their theory silently and hadn’t offered an opinion.

  “This has been a long time coming,” said Finnead, emerging from his conference with Maeve to stand beside Calliea. The change in him still caught her off guard. He looked and sounded younger, though when she looked at him closely there was still the experienced Knight in his eyes.

  “You sound almost eager, Finnead,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Not eager before a battle. That’s for untested squires. But I’m eager for justice, and perhaps a new beginning for the Court that was once my home.”

  Beryk flowed down the steps of the cathedral. Few paid the sable wolf any mind other than a respectful nod if he passed close to them. Vell followed close behind in her scarlet breastplate, her dark hair bound in its crown of braids and her golden circlet across her brow. She surveyed her Three cursorily and nodded, turning her attention to the dozens of warriors assembling below.

  The smith Thea, dressed for battle in a skirt of golden chain mail and gauntlets of hammered silver, led the Bearer’s white steed, Nehalim, to the edge of the stairs. A hush fell over the assembled Vyldgard. Calliea’s heart squeezed. They were so many and yet so few. A fierce pride welled up within her. They were those who had the courage to forge their own path, to take a chance on a new young Queen who promised them freedom and loyalty.

  Vell stepped to the edge of the first step. Her voice rang out over the warriors yet it felt as if she spoke to each of them individually. “I stand before you to ask the Vyldgard yet again to stand strong in the face of a new enemy,” she began.

  Calliea picked out Sayre in the ranks of warriors, his eyes alight as he listened to the Vyldretning. It seemed he would fight with them, though he wasn’t baptized as one of their Court yet.

  “Perhaps I should have taken this action sooner,” Vell went on grimly. “Perhaps I chose wrongly in daring to believe that my sister-queen would find her path again.”

  A low murmur of protest hovered over the Vyldgard, the warriors’ love for the Queen evident in their denial of her self-criticism.

  “But now it is clear to me. The Queen of the Unseelie Court has chosen her path, and it is one of darkness and war. She has attacked us, unprovoked, killing and wounding our brothers and sisters. She has committed unspeakable acts against her own people, imprisoning and torturing those who dared raise their voice in support of peace. She held her own sister in one of her dungeons, consigning her to an existence of misery.”

  The current of sound sweeping through the Vyldgard darkened as Vell spoke of Mab.

  “I have received word from the Lady Bearer that there is a sorceress traveling through the Lesser Gate opened by Queen Titania. This sorceress is the fendhionne who was once a part of the Unseelie Court, and she too has chosen a path of darkness. But she desires revenge upon Mab, and so we will let her have it.”

  Different cries rose from the warriors listening to their Queen, some in support and a few in protest, the air electrified by this new knowledge that the Vyldgard and the Seelie would stand aside to let a sorceress attack Queen Mab. Vell let the shouts and exclamations subside before she continued. Her golden eyes blazed as her gaze swept over her Court.

  “But we must remember that although the Queen of the Unseelie Court has chosen her path of darkness, her people have not. The Unseelie are not our enemies. The Unseelie have suffered just as we have suffered and perhaps more under Mab’s reign.”

  Calliea saw more than a few Vyldgard fighters nodding, the movement rippling through the crowd.

  “So I ask that you stand with me against Mab in protecting the Unseelie as best we can. I ask that you stand with me as the sorceress faces the mad queen, so that we may help our cousins escape the tyranny which has oppressed them for so long.”

  Along with nods, Calliea glimpsed the gleam of tears on the cheeks of some warriors who had once been Unseelie. That, more than anything, drove the truth of Vell’s words into her heart like a dagger. Their tears spoke silently of hope renewed and relief and perhaps guilt that they had escaped what those still in their Court of birth had endured.

  “The Valkyrie will fly and the Vyldgard will march to join the Seelie,” said Vell, her voice rising on a tide of passion, a fierce light in her golden eyes. She raised her chin a
nd all the Vyldgard unconsciously echoed her movement. “Brejda sverd eda hefja skjoldr!”

  Her shouted words, uttered so long ago at the start of the choosing of the Vyldgard, rang through her gathered Wild Court and were roared back to her by a hundred throats. Draw your swords and raise your shields. Chills raced down Calliea’s spine as Vell looked at her expectantly. The words rose to her lips.

  “Vedga manlig eda araed!” she shouted. Fight with valor and courage.

  The roar of the Vyldgard shook the very stones beneath their feet, and then silence followed with astounding speed as Finnead stepped forward. His voice shook as he pronounced the final declaration, his blue eyes stormy.

  “Sja dagr syna,” he said, his voice echoing over the heads of the gathered warriors, “myrkyr inn daga gyr.”

  The shining silence of the Vyldgard somehow resounded more deeply, resonated more loudly, than the war cry that had just caused the very foundation of the cathedral to shiver.

  “Fight well and with honor.” Vell pronounced the benediction and the breathless spell broke, warriors looking to their captains. The High Queen turned to her Three. “Finnead and Liam, with me. Laedrek, lead your Valkyrie.” With a nod, she turned and swept down the steps toward Nehalim. The Vyldgard had painted the white warhorse with scarlet and gold, his coat shifting, a shimmering work of art that spoke of their pride and love for their young Queen.

  Calliea fell into step with Finnead and Liam, following Vell. The Queen didn’t pause or glance over her shoulder to ensure they were keeping pace.

  “Have you Seen anything?” Calliea asked Liam in a low voice.

  He shook his head. “Too many possibilities to know which one is reliable. Battle is always a mess of threads.”

  “You have Seen something.”

  “I See a lot of things,” he replied, his green eyes unusually grave. “But I learned early on that Seeing something is one thing, and sharing it is another.”

  “You don’t want to mislead people.”

  “Something like that,” he agreed.

  Calliea thought as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “It must be a burden, to witness all these possibilities. If you ever need to talk about it, I offer myself to listen and to share your burden.”

  Liam smiled. “I appreciate that offer. I don’t want to cause anyone to worry, though.”

  “After the battle, we can try it and see if the arrangement would work,” Calliea said.

  He nodded. “After the battle.”

  “Some warriors think it bad luck to make plans for after the battle,” said Finnead conversationally.

  “Do you?” Liam asked.

  Finnead grinned. “No. I have far too much confidence in my own skill.”

  Calliea thought of Gray, the random chance that had obliterated her in the space of a heartbeat. Gray had been a skilled warrior, and a writhing ball of Mab’s sorcery had incinerated her. Cold anger gathered in her chest.

  “Where has this cocky, sarcastic person come from?” returned Liam, glancing at Finnead as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “From beneath the layers of guilt and self-loathing that taking my memories burned away.” Finnead’s grin didn’t falter as he said the words.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re seeing the silver lining of that,” Liam said honestly.

  The three of them paused and turned to face each other. Calliea wondered if they had said anything to Gray before she’d died – but no, they wouldn’t have had the time. They were scattered throughout the City. This felt different. They knew they were going into battle.

  Finnead decided the ritual. He grasped Liam’s forearm and then turned to Calliea, his grip firm and his sword-calloused hand cool through her shirt. Liam clasped Calliea’s forearm and gave her a nod. None of them uttered another word as they parted, Calliea threading her way through the throngs of gathered warriors toward the Valkyrie stables. A few of the Vyldgard clapped her on the back as she passed. She forced herself to nod at them, hoping she looked confident and capable.

  As she rounded the side of the great structure, she stretched her stride, stopping just short of breaking into a jog. She felt a strange urgency. She wanted to be astride Kyrim, flying through the upper reaches of the sky, battling this storm that Mab brewed and Vell contained, watching the battle unfold below and striking like lightning, raining arrows down upon their enemies.

  She saddled Kyrim and strapped her quiver to his side with brisk efficiency, offering cursory greetings to the other Valkyrie arriving and performing the same tasks. Kyrim stood still as she checked the straps on her gear one last time, his intelligent eyes alert as he scented the rising cold wind, his nostrils flaring.

  Within a quarter hour, the Valkyrie were ready. They led their mounts outside the gate of the paddock, the faehal flexing their wings and pawing the ground, their warhorse training rising strongly within them as they felt the anticipation of battle building in their riders. Calliea leapt onto Kyrim’s back, exhilaration sweeping through her. She wheeled Kyrim to face her warriors. They all wore bright jewel colors, strips of dyed leather woven into their battle braids, handprints and patterns painted across their faces and their mounts.

  “I can’t say anything better than the High Queen,” she told them. “So I will only say, fly well and fast, and defend those you can. It is my honor to lead you into battle.”

  Fierce grins broke across the faces of her riders as they saluted her, touching two fingers to their brows or placing their closed fists on their breastplates over their hearts.

  “A pair of scouts out now, and then another pair to follow,” Calliea said, looking up at the darkening sky. “The Vyldretning will help hold back this storm, and I will do my best as well.”

  “We have flown through more perilous skies than this,” said Trillian, her white eye gleaming.

  “And you and your mounts are fighters such as Mab has never seen,” Calliea replied with hard pride.

  Trillian motioned to another of the Valkyrie, and they urged their mounts forward toward the strip of ground worn bare by hundreds of takeoff gallops. Calliea watched them launch into the air, their mounts leaping with the power of a warhorse, their wings beating with the strength of an eagle. Kyrim snorted and turned to face the straightaway. She let him have his head, wrapping her hands in his mane and rising in her straps as he surged forward, the thundering of his hooves vibrating through her bones. Every time he sprang into the air left her breathless. Those first few moments of rushing wind and the ground falling away beneath them always felt new, no matter that they’d done it dozens of times now. For those few moments, she forgot that they flew to battle against Mab. The wind whipped coldly across her face, but she welcomed it. The cold balanced the fire coursing through her veins as her magnificent Kyrim bore them higher, his wings shimmering even in the dim light and the gathering clouds.

  They flew up and up, through a cloud that wrapped around them like mist, water droplets beading on Kyrim’s wings. Calliea had worn her quilted flying vest beneath her black shirt, but the cold still bit into her. She turned her mind away from it. Discomfort would pass. If she lost focus and made a mistake in battle that cost the life of another fighter, that would not.

  When they emerged from the cloud, the White City spreading below them, Calliea glanced over her shoulder. The rest of the Valkyrie spread in an arrow formation behind her, with her and Kyrim as the point. The arrow was loosed from the bow, she thought. The sorceress had come through the Gate, and now they would see if their weapon against the Unseelie Queen would strike its target true.

  Calliea leaned over Kyrim’s side, the straps around her legs holding her securely as she scanned the city below. She signaled Kyrim to reduce their altitude: they were well above the range of any weapon, but she also could not see the details of what was happening on the ground. A gleaming molten river streamed through the border of the Seelie territory, like liquid gold flowing through the veins of the city. Calliea narrowed her eyes as Ky
rim coasted lower, his great wings extended. The shining golden streams, wending their way through the thoroughfares, resolved into Seelie warriors, their golden armor glinting even in the dim light. Calliea followed the streets back toward the cathedral behind them and finally picked out the Vyldgard, some mounted and some not, racing to join the Seelie lines.

  Calliea flexed her hands and reached into her belt pouch, pulling on the soft gloves that she’d only rarely used until now, but with the air growing colder as they approached the front lines, she needed her hands to function. Kyrim led the arrow formation lower, now just higher than the range of a good archer. Calliea smiled in appreciation. Just as she was a skilled fighter, so was he.

  They raced toward the boundary of the Seelie lines. A black thunderhead loomed over the Unseelie territory, casting the city beyond the golden-armored ranks into deep darkness. Claws of lightning ripped through the cloud at intervals, and rumbling thunder rolled over them. But as the Seelie lines advanced, so too did the streaming golden sunlight, pushing against the dark storm cloud and pulling threads from its border to dissipate, bright beams striking the black clouds like spears thrown from invisible allies.

  As the Vyldretning neared the front lines, her scarlet breastplate vivid as a drop of blood against Nehalim’s white mane, Calliea felt the wind shift. Whispers brushed past her ears and she felt invisible hands skim over her – curious and questing, not hostile. Kyrim flicked his ears. Calliea caught the hint of speech in the whispers, but she couldn’t make out the actual words.

  The Vyldretning had summoned the zephyrs, air-spirits of the sky that answered to nothing and no one…save the High Queen, apparently. The casual power of this feat alone stole Calliea’s breath. She felt Vell’s amusement distantly through their bond. Calliea caught a quick impression from the High Queen: Finnead and Liam rode on her right and left, at the head of the Vyldgard, and she knew Queen Titania awaited at the front lines of the Seelie army.